by Jeremy Pack
Some core of him, long drained, had been filled, if only for a moment.
Now that he'd tasted that rich draught, the thirst would never be so easily slaked again.
He stepped back, ashamed and unsure, afraid to meet Jason's gaze for fear of what he might see there and how he might yet again relent. I can't do this. There's no place for this in my life. He knew these things, and yet....
"I should go," Jason said, his voice strained.
Chris flicked his eyes upward only for an instant, but that brief glance was enough to see that his torment was a shared one. "You'll keep in touch?"
"I promise. You'll know what I know as soon as I know it."
Chris held onto the counter for support, still looking anywhere but directly at Jason.
"Chris---"
"I can't." He cut Jason off before the words could be spoken. "Not yet." He still couldn't bear to look. "Not now. Maybe never."
He caught a glimpse of a clenched jaw and knew it expressed a deep disappointment. "I understand."
It was a lie. They both knew it, but it was a lie best accepted for the time being.
Without another word, Jason turned and left. His gait was stiff, and Chris knew he was fighting for control with each step he took.
Perhaps there would be a time for this, but not now. His life was a spider's web in a hurricane, a tattered tapestry that Pearl would say was "held together with scotch tape and a prayer." Maybe someday, when the storm had passed, he would be able to reassemble those parts of his heart that weren't damaged and learn to feel something with the fragments, but that time wasn't now. Right now, he needed answers. When he'd gotten those answers, and only then, would he be able to entertain the possibility.
JASON slipped out of his car and wandered through the shadowed parking lot, not really paying attention to where he was going. His mind was in torment, his body still burning from the touch of Chris against him.
He took his time, meandering along, absently avoiding puddles of oil-black rainwater that pooled in dips and hollows.
How in the hell was this possible?
He didn't fall in love, damn it. Yet that was exactly what had happened. No use denying it now.
He'd never wanted for intimate company, but he'd never allowed himself to get emotionally attached, either. Love was a triviality, and a dangerous one at that. It was something that other people did---people who didn't have so much baggage weighing them down.
He'd been careful in his choice of companions, allowing entanglements that could only ever be superficial. Before, he'd blamed it on his career and his need for discretion. After that, it was bitterness and guilt over the disaster that had led to his resignation from the FBI.
Whatever it was, there had always been something holding him back.
Poor Bradley, Jason mused, didn't realize he had been doomed from the start. He'd been chosen because love could never result. Love formed out of mutual respect, equality, and an interest in the thoughts and feelings of the other person. He couldn't imagine having any of that with Bradley, with anyone, really. There was safety in physical attraction and danger in anything more.
When it came right down to it, he didn't believe he was even capable of that kind of sentiment, especially considering that he had never encountered someone who could touch him in that way. Somehow there was always something missing, always some obstacle in the way.
Then there was Hiroko's... and Chris. Then there was the night that a sad smile and haunted green eyes had reached out to him, grabbed hold, and had not let him go.
He considered himself far too pragmatic for romance, even though he didn't deny its existence. It just wasn't his thing---or it hadn't been until he'd come across Christian James. Everything about Chris---the air of melancholy, the quiet strength, and the gentle wisdom in his emerald eyes---spoke directly to Jason's soul.
He shook his head, struggling to come to terms with these wholly unfamiliar feelings, trying to recall each of his past relationships, searching for some commonality. He had no basis for comparison. It was almost as if his heart had been waiting all along for this one person. He was walking on shaky ground, feeling lost and cheated. The universe had brought Christian James into his world in such a state. Jason felt like a starving man at a feast that remained elusively out of reach. Irony, it seemed, had the upper hand.
There were impossible obstacles, just as there had always been in the past, so what was different about Chris that made him want to ignore every one of them? Why was it that the idea of accepting the impossibility made him feel lonely and sad? Why did he want so badly to grab on to something that made him feel so hopelessly lost?
He realized he'd arrived at his door with no memory of having traversed the parking lot and climbing the stairs. He fondled his keys, still lost in thought.
As he entered his apartment, his inner torment was instantly forgotten. Some deep instinct screamed at him that something was not right. He didn't know what set off the alarms in his head, but it was very real, very immediate. The almost preternatural knowing was another of those carry-overs from dangerous fieldwork. It had served him well too many times to discount its warning now. He'd come to trust it, even to rely upon it.
He stood stock-still against the door and closed it softly behind him.
Moving with experienced stealth, he snaked his hand up the wall toward the light switch and listened, trying to detect the slightest sound or hint of movement. He heard nothing except the rapid beating of his heart.
Nonetheless, the longer he stood with his back to the door, the more intense the sense of wrongness became until he thought he would explode from the building tension.
His fingers made contact with the switch.
In the instant before he could flip it upward, the attack came. A solid mass slammed into him and flung him onto the floor. He wrestled with the brute, deftly fending off blows that rained down from above.
His dodges were guided by sound and the tracery of air on his cheek as his attacker sought contact. Whoever it was, he was the embodiment of fury, a relentless, ruthless force of nature. The invader struck out again and again, frustration lending force to the blows.
Jason shoved out with his knees, connecting with a yielding midsection. The satisfying explosion of air from the man's lungs was followed by a strained wheeze of pain, and he was just able to wrench himself free.
He rolled onto his stomach and clawed his way toward the wall.
Before his attacker had a chance to recover, he leapt to his feet and kicked out, searching for the body he knew was close. His foot connected with soft flesh, but in the next instant, strong hands wrapped around his ankle and dragged him down.
As he hit the floor, his head cracked against the ceramic tile, and vertigo rushed up to meet him.
Frantically, he gulped air and blinked his eyes to keep the blackness at bay. The hulking man leapt atop him once more. Beefy hands wrapped anaconda-like about his neck, choking off his air.
He was struck violently and stars exploded across his vision. Death was close---closer than it had ever been in his life.
A mere hairsbreadth separated him from unconsciousness when the steel hands released their grip and the black menace that sat astride him laughed. The wicked sound of it sent chills down his spine.
"You've been poking your fingers in places they don't belong," the disembodied voice said. "I guess I'll have to take them off one at a time."
"Who the hell are you?" he gasped with the precious little air he'd been able to draw into his lungs.
Again came the evil chuckle.
He tried to speak, but was silenced by a blinding white pain inside his skull as he was backhanded again. The black silhouette hovering over him spread like an oil slick, and he felt himself slipping into oblivion.
Through his stupor, he heard the unmistakable snick of a switchblade opening and knew he had to do something now, before it was too late. It was survival instinct that led his fingers to his pocket
and the keys within. He scrabbled to free them and thrust upward. He was rewarded by the sickening give of soft flesh and a scream of human agony as the impromptu weapon plunged deep into his attacker's eye. A hot spurt of blood and gelatinous fluid splashed over his hand.
The heavy weight rolled off of him. The damage he'd inflicted had bought him a chance to escape, and he took it. He rolled away and dashed through the door.
As his feet hit the pavement, the ground near his shoes exploded.
Chunks of hot asphalt bit deeply into his flesh. He didn't stop, didn't look back. Instead, he dove for cover behind a low hedge and commando-crawled across the wet grass toward the relative safety of the sidewalk and the busy street.
He took off in a fast sprint. As he fled into the night, he heard an ominous warning called after him. "This isn't over."
JASON pressed himself against the side of a brick building, safely hidden in the shadows of a darkened alley. He panted and rubbed his offended skull, probing the well-developed egg that was hatching into one hell of a headache. Groaning, he choked and spat blood. The abused muscles in his neck protested with each movement.
His mind worked through the scenario. Whoever had violated his home had been well funded. The silencer and the clinical violence were testament to that. This was a professional, not some cheap thug. Brunner had apparently come into some resources since their last encounter.
This seemed an unusually bold move for Brunner. Maybe his style had changed. Maybe it wasn't Brunner he was dealing with at all. He didn't know anymore.
If his quarry was getting antsy, though, the clock was ticking. If it was Brunner, Jason knew firsthand how slippery he could be. It wouldn't be long before he melted into the shadows, becoming impossible to reach.
There was no time for anything but action.
The dire warning This isn't over resurfaced in his consciousness.
Chris.
If he was in danger, Chris might be too. Now that they had sounded the battle cry, time was working against them.
In the aftermath of the assault, he realized the rules had changed.
Under the circumstances, it was far too dangerous for Chris to be left unguarded. A storm could be headed directly for him, and he'd have no idea what was coming or any means to defend against it.
Jason glanced at his watch again. It was a twenty-minute drive to Chris's house, but he couldn't risk going back to his own car. Even as his gut clenched with the fearful realization that Chris might already be dead, he punched numbers into his mobile phone. Each ring brought him closer to dread. Finally, Chris picked up.
"Chris, listen to me. Get out of the house," he commanded without preamble.
"Jason?"
"Grab your keys and get in the car. Go now."
"You're scaring me."
"Good. You should be scared. Damn it, Chris, don't waste time. Move." There were sounds of action on the other end of the line. He heard keys rattling, a door opening and closing, running footsteps, a car engine roaring to life.
"Where am I going?"
"Head toward Safeco Field. And keep your eye out for a tail."
The connection cut out.
Shit.
He stabbed his finger into the Redial button. After several rings, Chris's voicemail picked up.
The five-alarm headache was making him nauseous. Steeling himself against the pain, he crept out of the shadows and ran down First Avenue in the direction of the sports stadium.
As he hurried along, he continued to dial Chris's number. Finally, after the fifth attempt, Chris picked up again. "Are you on your way?"
"Yes. You'd better tell me what's going on."
"Something happened. Hurry."
"What happened? Jason, talk to me."
"I'll explain on the way to the airport."
"The airport?"
"We're getting the hell out of here."
"But I thought---"
"I had a visitor. He made me rethink my position."
"Oh no. Where are you? Are you hurt? I'm calling the police. Jason, this is---"
"I'm fine. We're not calling the police."
"If you've been attacked---"
"Chris, we've set off some kind of shitstorm. If we don't move now, we might never have the chance again."
"But the police---"
"Will tie us up in so much procedure and red tape that Brunner will be long gone before the ink is dry on the paperwork. Where are you?"
"I just got off of the freeway. I'm heading down Fourth Avenue."
Jason continued to run, his eyes watchful. "Anyone tailing you?"
"How the hell should I know? I write restaurant reviews, for crying out loud."
"Make a note of the cars behind you and take some right-hand turns. Circle around. If any of them follow your movements, let me know."
"I can't do this."
"You can do this. Whatever is happening is bad, worse than I thought. Someone doesn't want us to find out what happened to Michael and your daughter. If we weren't on the right track, I wouldn't merit the special attention I got tonight. Are you making those turns?"
"Just a second. I don't think... wait. Oh no. A black Cadillac just came around the corner. What do I do?"
"You're going to have to lose him."
"What? How?"
Jason loped onto Jackson Street and traveled east toward Second Avenue. "I'm headed your way. Hang tight. Just keep driving toward the stadium. There's a Mariners game getting out in a few minutes."
"I'm on Fourth again. He's still back there---a couple of cars away." Chris's voice was strained.
"Stop panicking. Breathe."
"This cloak and dagger stuff is freaking me out."
"Just relax. Stay in traffic and don't let him get right behind you. Keep your cool. If he senses that you know he's tailing, he might do something stupid."
"Where are you?"
"Coming up on Second now. Chris, I need you to listen carefully. There's a big intersection where Fourth and Second merge. I need you to get to the head of the line by the time you reach that intersection? Got it?"
"I'll try."
"If the light is green when you get there, stop until it turns red."
"But that'll hold up traffic."
"Forget driving school, Chris, just pay attention. The light has to be red for what I'm planning."
Jason could see the intersection coming up. He was almost there.
Ignoring his growing fatigue, he quickened his pace and reached his destination a moment later. He peered up the street. Traffic was stopped two lights back. Somewhere in that sea of cars was Chris. When the distant light turned green, the traffic began to move again.
The light changed just as the oncoming traffic arrived at the intersection. One motorist sped through. Jason scanned the cars. Chris wasn't among them.
Again, the lights cycled. This time, he could clearly see Chris's late-model sedan in the front of the queue.
"I can see you now," he said.
"I see you too. What are you waiting for? Get in."
"No. Not until we lose your tail. It isn't safe."
Chris's car rolled to a stop as the light turned red. It was now or never.
"Okay, Chris. Punch it."
"Run the light?" There was a note of dismay in his voice.
"Chris, what are you waiting for? There's cross traffic. Go now."
Chris shot out into the intersection seconds ahead of the oncoming cars. He made it through as honking horns bleated out in reproach.
"Okay, I just broke the law... on purpose. That's lovely. Now what? Should I find a pedestrian to run down?"
"Get to Safeco Field."
"Where do I go once I get there?"
"The game just let out. Trust me. I'll have plenty of time to find you."
"What about the guy following me? This light won't stay red forever."
"Got it covered."
Jason uprooted a trash can and carried it into a shadowed alley. As the
light turned green, he tossed it out into the sea of cars and watched as it hit the hood of an Acura SUV. The driver swerved amid a squeal of brakes and plowed into the car next to him, which careened left. The two cars effectively jammed all three lanes.
As the shouting started, he hurried away through the narrow alley and emerged into a crush of pedestrians on the next block. He took off running again, heading south toward the stadium.
As he'd hoped, the roadways were jammed. Things were starting to look up.
He shoved his way through the crowds, moving as quickly as he could, scanning the ocean of outbound traffic from Safeco Field until he finally spotted Chris's car.
A few moments of careful weaving through the maze of bumpers brought him alongside. He rapped on the driver's window.
Chris shifted the car into park and clambered into the passenger seat as Jason opened the door and climbed in.
"If you think I'm ever doing anything like that again, you've got another thing coming," Chris said. "You're doing the James Bond stuff from now on."
"Deal."
"Is it always like this with you around?"
"Not always. Sometimes it's worse. You okay?"
"I've never been this scared before," Chris admitted. "But I think I'll live."
Jason smiled reassuringly. "We'll be keeping a low profile from now on. I won't underestimate Brunner's resources again."
"I thought you said he was just a petty crook."
"He is---or he was. It would appear he's gotten a little more connected since he dropped off the face of the earth."
"Or he isn't behind this at all," Chris said with a note of panic, adding to his earlier suspicion.
The muscle in Jason's jaw clenched. He certainly hoped that was not the case---an enemy you knew, no matter how cunning, was certainly better than one you didn't. If it wasn't Brunner, they could be playing by all the wrong rules.
No time to think about that now. All they could do was move forward under the current course of action.
He dialed his telephone and waited nervously for Bradley to pick up.
"Hello?" The voice was groggy.
"I need your help."
"JayKay? That you?"
"I don't have time to talk, Bradley, I'm in trouble."